


You and Me

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-20
Updated: 2000-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:01:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before the Edmonton gig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think it needs any, but I guess a bottoming Joe might be a squick. This is from the coolest movie ever. Yes, I'm on the bandwagon, late as usual, but if you haven't already seen it, it's run don't walk time. This has gone through the talented Melissa twice, who really understands Billy much more than I do. She deserves slave-boys to cast petals as she walks. Amy says this is angry!billy, but I like him. :)

The vibrations from the steering wheel had made Billy's hands numb hours ago, and the snores from the back of the van grated on his nerves. The air was thick from smoke, coating everything with a yellow film. He glanced down to his hands and imagined he could lick it off his skin.  
Around three o'clock, he pulled into Lloydminster, stopped to fill the van up again and grab a cup of scorched coffee from the sleepy clerk at a gas station. He put the Styrofoam cup on the roof of the van and stretched before he got back in.

The divided highway made driving easier. It had been years since they drove cross country, and he forgot how much the prairies had klick after klick of fuck all. And the cities. LA was a city. New York was a city. Even Vancouver was better than the shit towns that passed off as cities. Regina had been nothing but a hick town with delusions.

He took a sip of the coffee and groped around his pocket for a smoke. Piss-poor coffee, crap on the radio and stale smokes. Just like old times. Billy rubbed his forehead; driving a shitty van in the middle of the night was safe and familiar, and he hated how quickly he had adjusted to it. Joe snagged his cigarette from his lips and took a drag. "You okay?" he asked.

"Fuck you," Billy said. He reached into his pocket for another one and lit it up. Joe blew smoke in his face, but Billy ignored him.

"You and me," Joe said.

Billy ignored him. Something brushed up against his cheek, but the touch was so light he automatically slapped at it rather than look at what it was, and what he slapped down turned out to be Joe's hand. "Stop it," he snapped.

Joe's hand touched his cheek again, only this time it stayed. Billy slapped it down again, but Joe reversed too quickly and caught Billy's wrist. Billy tried to yank free, almost driving off the road, and only the rumple strip between the white line and the ditch made him swerve again.

"Let go of me, you fuck," he snarled, but still kept his voice low so as not to wake the others. He was too tired to fuck with Joe; he loved the man but he didn't want to play Joe's little reindeer games.

"Make me," Joe said as he pushed Billy's sleeve up. Billy tried to pull away again, but Joe held on with both his hands and let Billy exhaust himself. Joe's eyes were dark, but he had a twisted smile. He almost seemed happier when they were at each other's throats. Billy stopped fighting and Joe looked disappointed and gripped his wrist harder. The challenge hung between them, but Billy looked back to the road.

"You are so dead. Let go of me, you sick fuck," Billy growled.

Joe didn't answer. Instead, Joe moved his tongue like a slug down Billy's wrist. Billy held still for it until Joe reached his bunched up sleeve, and then he steadied the steering wheel with his knee, and used his free hand to smack Joe over his ear. He pulled away, and Billy snatched his hand back.

"I told you to stop it," Billy snapped. He wiped off the spit on his skin onto his jeans and then pushed down his sleeve. Asshole. He glared, but Joe only met his stare and stuck his tongue out, slowly.

An apple core flew out of the back and caught Joe on the top of his head, which let Billy quickly adjust himself in his jeans without being noticed "Fucking freaks," came a sleepy voice behind them, and Joe turned around and belted the apple core back into the dimness. Someone else swore, and by the time Joe turned back, Billy had tuned him out. Joe had his shot four years ago and Billy wasn't going to offer him a second helping. A while later he glanced sideways again, but Joe was asleep. He didn't know which one he missed more: Joe fucking with him or Joe not fucking with him.

The others gradually woke up, but they seemed almost subdued once they reached Edmonton. Joe convinced everyone else to go out with him for breakfast, but Billy went up to his room and crashed. He woke up with the sun almost directly in the window, and he jumped as he noticed Joe sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What the fuck do you want?" Billy asked as he sat up.

Joe tossed him a grease-stained bag. He opened it up and took out the ham and egg sandwich. It was cold, but he didn't care as he grabbed his smokes from his jacket. "Thanks, man," he said.

Joe continued to stare at him. "What?" he asked, after he pushed the food to the side of his mouth.

Joe began to run his fingers up Billy's legs. Billy kicked at him, but it was half-hearted. "You and me," Joe said. "Billy--"

Billy swallowed, throwing the half-eaten sandwich away. "I told you, you wouldn't get a second shot," he said, flatly. The actual fuck hadn't been the problem. Joe had been as much a part of him as his right hand--well, a malicious, fucked-up, brilliant but angry right hand--and if Joe had wanted him it would have been no different from jerking off, but being taken had bothered him. That was Joe, though. Fuck and fuck the consequences.

"Look at me."

Billy deliberately looked away; Joe's eyes were too bright. Joe grabbed his chin, and his fingers scraped against the stubble. "Look at me. You and me. Say it, mean it," Joe said.

Billy averted his eyes, and winced as it made Joe dig his fingers deeper into his skin. "You fuck," he snapped.

"Am I?" Joe asked. He moved closer.

Billy fought back. Joe's reactions were slightly off, and Billy managed to push himself on top. Joe tried to scramble back, but Billy kept him there. "What's wrong, Joe? You don't want to fuck with me when I'm not passed out on the couch?"

Joe reached out to kiss him, but Billy pushed him back. "You and me, say it," Joe said.

Billy paused. "You and me," he said, and then reached out and slowly lowered his hand down to Joe's groin. Joe's cock was hard against his palm, even through the denim, and Joe closed his eyes at the touch. Billy played with the cock for a moment, enjoying the way Joe twitched and jumped along with his cock as the contact changed from teasing to serious. "Like that?" he asked. It was like jerking off; Joe moved under him and Billy could taste what he was feeling. The whole situation was too fucked. He could play Joe like the '59 Strat, but he wasn't quite ready for the game yet.

Joe kicked out his legs and lifted himself against Billy's palm. "Billy..." he began, and then screamed as Billy viciously twisted his nuts. Joe curled up in a small ball, and Billy stood up.

"Fuck you," he said. Watching Joe in agony was too masochistic to seem real, yet he stood there and let Joe writhe.

Joe wheezed. Billy waited for him to be able to talk by pacing the length of the small room. He had gotten over his anger, but only Joe could piss him off enough to blow his new uncaring attitude. Angry punker, nihilist grunger, he was nothing but a cliché. Self-awareness didn't calm him or his cock down. They were going to fuck. He knew it, Joe knew it, and it was just a matter of settling old scores. Aging guitarist's mid-life crisis takes a totally fucking whacked right turn, yet he found himself holding his cock too tight for comfort as if he could share Joe's pain. He shook his head.

"What the fuck was that for?" Joe finally managed, pushing up to his elbows. When they were still in their teens, they had gone cow-tipping once when they were drunk, stoned and stupid. Tipping the sleeping beasts got boring, so Joe in all his brilliance decided he was going to ride one of them. The moment he had swung his leg over the cow's back, the fucking thing woke up and started bucking. Joe hung on, and Billy had been amazed. Joe had glanced up to where Billy stood, stupidly, and grinned at him. A moment later, the cow managed to get him off and he landed in a tangle of gangly legs and arms.

Joe looked at him from the bed, and he looked about the same as he had that night, minus the cow shit. Rumpled, in pain, but oddly triumphant.

Billy shook his head, for once not willing to give Joe the victory. "What was that for?" Joe repeated.

"What do you think, asshole?"

"Is this about the apology thing?" Joe asked. He pushed gingerly to his feet, and took a step forward.

Billy didn't let him come a step closer. He pushed Joe back to the bed, and Joe for once was passive under the blows. "Apology thing?" Billy said, mockingly. "What could you possibly be sorry for? 'I'm sorry I corn-holed you on that goddamn sofa. I'm sorry you woke up halfway through it. I'm sorry I didn't fucking wait until I knew for sure you were passed out--'"

Joe pushed him back for the first time. "I told you--"

Billy backhanded him. Joe struggled to get away, but Billy put both his hands around Joe's throat. "You and me. Say it!"

"You and me," Joe managed as Billy allowed him enough breath to form the words.

"My way," Billy continued.

"My way," Joe agreed. Billy pressed down with his hands, and waited for Joe's face to start to tinge blue before letting him up. He had to be careful not to squeeze too hard, and his fingers knotted with the struggle. Browbeating Joe was hopeless and futile, but almost killing him went too far and Billy knew it.

"My way," Billy repeated, carefully.

Joe looked at him. "Your way," he finally allowed.

Billy backed away. He stripped Joe viciously, and Joe allowed it. Joe's T-shirt didn't cover his half-hard cock, and Joe did nothing to hide himself. Billy felt his anger slowly dissolve, and need took its place. He knelt on the bed, and Joe moved back to give him room. They looked at each other, and all the times they had pressed into each other's space made the kiss suddenly natural. Joe met his tongue, once again dominant, but Billy had proven his point and was more than willing to share the reins. Number one and number two--all but mostly equal. He just wasn't going to be the one who spread his legs.

They didn't have any lube, and the previous occupants of the room hadn't been forgetful enough. They took turns spitting onto Billy's palm, a contest to see who could produce the most. With his palm full, Billy couldn't undo his own jeans and Joe tried to do it with his mouth, but the button was too tight and he had to resort to his hands. His cock woke up from Joe's breath against the denim, and after Joe groped him a couple times, he was aching. The women who had wetted themselves after a tour in LA were much better than the Canadian skanks that followed them around from club to club even at the height of their success, but nothing really compared to this. They had been fucking around with each other far too long.

Joe bit Billy's lip lightly, but Billy deliberately pulled back so that the pain racked him. "I've wanted to kill you a hundred times," he said. Joe took his mouth again, and Billy fought him back.

"Of course you did. You're in love," Joe said. He scratched his nails down Billy's back, and Billy arched backwards to feel the pain. Billy felt his body flush, and the heat radiated down to his cock.

Without being told to, Joe flipped over to his hands and knees and Billy took over. He had never seen Joe so vulnerable or exposed, but it didn't give him the power rush that he expected. The feelings were softer, but he pushed them away rather than examining them too close. Joe glanced behind him, shifting backwards. Billy put his hand over Joe's back, but it was more to steady himself than to comfort Joe. Joe needed a lot of things, but tenderness wasn't one of them.

Billy worked Joe open carefully, and Joe lowered his head to the bed and waited. Billy used the spit to ease his cock in, and Joe groaned, thrusting back. Billy gathered up Joe's hard cock with his wet hand, and felt the response inside him. Joe's cock jumped in his hand, and he decided he loved the one-sided feeling of someone else's skin moving over a hard cock.

Reality reminded him that he wasn't a teenager anymore. Neither of them were. Joe was already shuddering in his hand and the contractions against his cock were too much.

"I hate you," Billy hissed, trying to distract himself.

"Bitch," Joe growled back.

Billy bit down on Joe's shoulder. He didn't break the skin, but only because Joe yanked free before he could get a good enough grip. The depressions his teeth made were white against Joe's pale flesh for a heartbeat, and then slowly started to fill with purple. His mark. Billy stared at it, alarmed at how much his cock responded to it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything but the feeling of Joe around him, but he couldn't stop himself from coming. "Fuck," he hissed, wanting to collapse against Joe and never wake up, but he pulled out, wrinkling his nose at the mess, and went to go clean himself off.

Joe had taken over his bed as he returned. He had wiped himself off on one of Billy's T-shirts from his bag. Billy sat down next to him. Joe moved behind him and nuzzled the back of his neck. They had known each other too long to have to worry about stupid after-fuck conversations. It was enough to sit there. Joe bit the lobe of his ear, but the teeth only touched his skin.

"You and me," Joe repeated, pulling away.

Without him against his bare back, the bedroom was cold. Billy ran his hand down the naked skin of Joe's scalp, and slapped the back of Joe's neck. It was a vortex, but it was his. And there were worse places to get sucked into. He'd wanted limos and Lear jets, but he'd settle for Joe.

They went downstairs together.

End


End file.
